


permanence

by pageleaf



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Gen, Post - Conspiracy of Kings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 03:12:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2757395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pageleaf/pseuds/pageleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How many heroes, how many queens, how many shining, brilliant lives had Eugenides seen extinguished, for no reason other than the waning attention of the gods? How many humans had he become too attached to, and his kin told him he’d forget them soon enough, but he never did. He remembered them all, all of them so precious, all of them burning so bright—but none so bright as Gen, it seemed.</p>
<p>(Or: the gods can't save Gen from death forever)</p>
            </blockquote>





	permanence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shewhoguards](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewhoguards/gifts).



> Happy yuletide! I loved writing this fic and I never would have thought of it without your great prompt. I hope you enjoy it!!!
> 
> (Don't worry: I left off the Character Death tag for a reason)

It had to happen eventually. Eugenides just wasn’t expecting it to be so soon.

Was it soon? How old was the boy? It seemed just days ago he had been a squalling infant, but it had to have been years since then. Oh, but human time was becoming harder and harder to keep up with.

And yet, there was Hephestia, standing at Eugenides’s shoulder, interrupting his time staring out at the stars. “It’s time,” she said again, sympathy lacing her voice, and Eugenides winced. “You knew this day would come.” He didn’t need her sympathy, he wasn’t that attached, it was just that—

At his center—wasn’t he still just a boy? Eugenides didn’t think they held with killing boys.

“We aren’t killing him,” his sister said, and Eugenides startled. He hated that sometimes Hephestia seemed to hear his thoughts. But, he thought, after the eons they had spent together, meddling in human lives together, he was probably very easy to read.

“We aren’t,” she said, and seemed to be convincing herself as much as him. “We’re just—”

“We’re not just not saving him,” Eugenides said bitterly. And when one was as powerful as the King of Attolia, that was the same thing. “Who was it this time?” There was always some god who decided they should stop meddling in a human’s life. They were tired of constantly watching for danger and trying to stop it. They thought there were more important things to be doing—usually, keeping track of a different human that they liked more.

How many heroes, how many queens, how many shining, brilliant lives had Eugenides seen extinguished, for no reason other than the waning attention of the gods? How many humans had he become too attached to, and his kin told him he’d forget them soon enough, but he never did. He remembered them all, all of them so precious, all of them burning so bright—but none so bright as Gen, it seemed.

“Just don’t make me watch,” Eugenides said, turned away. He didn’t shout, he didn’t throw a tantrum, he didn’t yell _how could you_ —he knew it wasn’t up to his sister.

Hephestia sighed, and turned away herself, her flowing red dress skimming the ground and picking up imaginary dirt and leaves as she left him sitting on a rock that couldn’t exist, on a mountainside that wasn’t tangible, staring at a sky that mortals couldn’t see. In such a place, there was nothing either of them could do.

***

When Eugenides was young and newly immortalized, he used to dream of his brother dying. Once, he asked his sister for help getting rid of nightmares, and she just stared at him blankly.

Next, he asked Moira, and she looked at him carefully for a moment, quill hovering over her scroll, before saying, “Eugenides, we don’t dream.” She set down her pen. “We wouldn’t even sleep, except that it quiets our minds. If we dreamt, I’m sure none of us would ever sleep.”

Disappointment hit Eugenides like one of those damned thunderbolts, and he swallowed the sudden bitterness in his mouth. He didn’t regret becoming immortal, necessarily, but with every passing day, and every newly discovered difference between his mortal-born soul and his godly brethren, he felt more and more alone.

His mouth twisted into a semblance of a smile, and he shrugged. “No matter,” he said. “I’m sure they’ll go away.”

Moira smiled at him sadly. “I’m sorry, Eugenides,” she said. “None of us were ever mortal, so we cannot know what it was like for you, but that does not mean none of us have ever experienced loss.”

But Eugenides turned his back, and didn’t listen, and eventually the dreams went away.

Until now.

Only now, halfway through, the voice of his foolish, selfish brother became accented, his voice higher and more melodious, but still panicked, and suddenly the face of the boy burning in his arms was not Lyopidus but Gen, brown skin pale with fear and eyes wide in terror.

“Please,” he said, pressing his hand and his handless wrist to Eugenides’s chest in a plea. “Please, I’ll die—”

—and Eugenides woke, gasping, shaking, cold.

“Please,” he said, aloud, knowing no one would hear him. “Please, he’ll die.”

***

“Don’t,” Eugenides said, when he saw Moira walking toward him. “I don’t want to know.”

Moira frowned at him. “You have no idea what I want to tell you.”

“I know,” he said. “ _I know_ , and I don’t _want_ to.”

Moira’s frown deepened. “It might surprise you.”

Eugenides faltered. Maybe—but no, it would all be the same in the end. Death was death was death.

“Don’t,” he said, and she left.

***

“It isn’t what you think,” Moira said, the scroll fluttering in her hand. If Eugenides focused, he could make out the ink on the surface, forming words; a name, maybe, one that looked like his own, and then words, words that said—

Eugenides tore his eyes away. “Go _away_ ,” he said childishly.

“You have to hear this at some point, Eugenides, and I won’t let you escape it,” Moira said. “Everyone has their fate, and this is part of yours.”

Eugenides rolled his eyes. “Don’t lecture me about fate,” he snapped. “You don’t have mine written on that scroll—I’m not human anymore.”

“Aren’t you?” Moira asked sharply. She stepped closer. “Aren’t you still a human inside?” She tapped him on the chest with her quill. “A human’s bleeding heart,” she said softly. “So raw, so fragile.” Her quill dug in a little, and Eugenides hissed, although even a sword couldn’t pierce his skin. “You hurt like a human, too,” she said, and he knew she wasn’t talking about the quill.

“I don’t want to,” Eugenides pleaded. “So please, don’t make me.”

Moira sighed. “He was attacked last night,” she said. “In his bed.”

Eugenides froze. He didn’t want to hear this, he didn’t want—

“And?” he asked, hating himself.

“Attolia shot the assassin in the shoulder, and then in the head. Eugenides— _Gen_ wasn’t even truly awake before the man was dead.” Moira carefully rolled up the scroll, tucked it under her arm. “I told you it would surprise you.”

“That’s only once,” Eugenides said, unconvinced. “What happens the next time? What happens when it isn’t an assassin at all, but just his drunken idiot self dancing on the roof like his mother?”

Moira pressed her lips together, frustrated, and walked away. Eugenides was fiercely glad. He didn’t want to look at her damned scroll and pen anymore.

***

“You’re being stubborn and childish,” Hephestia told him. “And self-centered. Do you think I’ve never cared for a mortal before?”

“Not like this,” Eugenides said, sitting cross-legged on a flat rock. “Not like—” _Not like my own blood._

Hephestia huffed. “I cared for you, idiot,” she said, uncharacteristically blunt, “long before you were made immortal. You think I don’t know what it’s like?” She laid a hand on his head, smoothed his hair down.

Eugenides sighed and leaned into the touch. “I’m afraid,” he said. “I’m afraid to know.”

Hephestia tugged at his hair reproachfully. “You’ll find out eventually, when he dies. He’s a mortal, so he _will_ die. And then you’ll know. Why not know now?”

Eugenides turned to face her. “Because then I’ll want to stop it, but you’ve already told me I _can’t_.”

Hephestia smiled at him, and to his surprise, it wasn’t sad. “You might not have to,” she said, and he frowned.

“What do you mean,” he said.

“Tonight,” Hephestia said, “Gen went dancing on the roof. He had a full bottle of wine in his only hand, and he wasn’t sober when he went up there. And he lost his balance.”

Eugenides winced, and resisted the urge to cover his ears. “And?” he said.

“And,” his sister said, “Costis Ormentiedes followed him out and grabbed him before he could fall. He’s safe.”

Eugenides exhaled in a rush. “But what about—”

“The next time?” Hephestia said. “Why don’t you ask Moira. Maybe she’ll tell you, if she hasn’t grown tired of your tantrums.”

***

“The next time,” Moira said, as he entered her library, “will be a week from now. Gen’s horse will spook on a hunting trip with the king of Sounis, and throw him from its back. Before he can be trampled, however, Sounis will lift him out of harm’s way, while his men calm the horse. The hunting party will return to Attolia empty-handed, but unharmed.” She never looked up from the scroll she was writing in.

Eugenides sat down heavily in the chair by her desk. “And then?”

Moira looked up finally, and raised her eyebrows. “Are you ready to listen?” she asked.

“Yes, _yes_ , I’m ready, please,” he said. “Just—tell me.”

Moira smiled at him. “And then,” she said, “things will be quiet for a few months, before someone tries to poison the soup being served for his dinner.” She looked back down at her scroll and trailed a finger along the neat lines, as if trying to find something in particular. “Ah, there it is. His friend, the magus of Sounis, will notice an odd smell coming from the soup, and find a few poisonous mushrooms in it. They’ll be very rare, but he’ll know what they are, and he’ll save Gen.”

Eugenides still wasn’t convinced. “And then?” he repeated, urgently.

“Calm down,” Moira said. “And then, a year from now, one of his guard will turn on him. The rest of the men will try to kill the man, but he will already be incapacitated, rendered unconscious by the solid cuff of Gen’s hook.”

Eugenides remained silent, but he relaxed slightly in his chair.

“Over the years,” Moira said, “he will be attacked, have poison put in his food, and fall prey to accidents numerous times. And he will be saved by his wife, his family, his friends, and his people; and even when all else fails, he will save himself.” She looked at Eugenides meaningfully. “Do not underestimate the man who bears your name.”

“He’s not a man,” Eugenides said. “He’s just a boy, and we’ve abandoned him.”

“He isn’t a boy,” Moira said firmly. “He has been through quite a lot in his life, and he’s the king of kings on that human world of yours. One day he will go down in the legends, just like the kings before him, just like Hamiathes. And no one will remember him as just a boy.”

She was right, Eugenides thought. She was always right.

But still, every time he closed his eyes, he saw Gen’s face, shadowed in firelight, terrified and pained.

Eugenides sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m not ready,” he admitted. “I’m not ready to let go of this one.”

From the _scritch-scritch_ of her quill, Eugenides knew Moira had gone back to writing. “Well, then,” she said, “you’re lucky. You have a little while longer to get ready.”

She smiled at him, eyes warm and face open, and although Eugenides still felt raw and heavy, it felt a little easier than normal to smile back. Moira’s smile widened, and then she ducked her head back to her scroll.

“Now, please leave,” she said teasingly. “Fate waits for no one.”

Eugenides snorted and unfolded himself from his chair, standing. He stretched, spine popping, and scratched nervously at his hair. “Thank you, Moira,” he said softly, and she smiled down at her scroll.

He left, feeling a little less small.

That night, he dreamed of rain.


End file.
